The Fallacies of Hair Mismanagement
by lazer-angel
Summary: There were no such things as bad hair days. There were either fantastic hair days or abysmal hair days. Today most definitely did not fall in the fantastic hair day category.


A/N: Been a quite a long while. I wonder if anyone ever reads these little notes. Suppose not, seeing as I don't usually read other authors' notes myself. Say Bow-chicka-wow-wow if you read this!

Disclaimer: Plot's mine. Everything else, sadly, does not fall within my ownership.

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The Fallacies of Hair Mismanagement

It was horrendous. It was utterly frightful. It was the inevitable ruin of an ignorant, overly self-assured, haughty being. What, pray tell, was this horrific incident and to whom did it befall upon? Why, it was poor Draco Malfoy, who was, at the moment, staring at his mirror in pure, unadulterated horror.

He had a cowlick.

Numerous gels, slicks, and spells had failed to cure his dreadful coiffure crisis. He had tried showering and re-showering innumerable times in an attempt to have his hair fix itself, but only ended up with raw, wet, prune-like fingers. It disgusted him to no end.

Trying to avoid wrinkling his aristocratic nose at his fingers in dismay, he continued to silently mourn his cowlick. The unruly tuft of hair stuck out above the rest of his faultless coif. He stared gloomily upon it, willing for it to disappear. He almost got distracted by the way his bangs fell in the most alluring way above his eyes before he reminded himself of his problematic situation and fingered the nuisance gingerly.

"_Why me?_" he thought sorrowfully. "_I've done nothing so awful as to deserve this horrifying fate._"

He disregarded the voice in the back of his mind that sounded very much like Granger that began listing his dastardly deeds that he had ever done, all the way from his early moments of life. It wasn't as if he attempted to take over the world. No, that was Voldemort's job. He was content to live his own vain, sheltered life away from the chaos and troubles of being an accomplice to a mass murderer. Simply, he was not a Death Eater, which was contrary to popular belief. He just did not understand why people held him in such negative regards. As if he would ever stain his beauteous, flawless skin with a hideous tattoo.

His cowlick impatiently glared at him from the vanity as if to chastise its victim for letting his thoughts wander away from his hair for a second. Once again, he heaved a great sigh and attempted to push it back down. Intolerantly, it sprang right back up again.

"Draco? Are you in there?"

Oh Merlin's great, unsightly underpants. The evil witch-queen of the Underworld had arrived. In his moment of weakness, he might fall prey to her provocative advances, or fall unconscious at the sight of her gruesome features. Quickly, he snatched a long, black cloak from a nearby hook, drew it over his shoulders and walked towards the door at the other end of the lavatory, away from the escalating voices. With one last hesitant glance into the mirror, he flipped the hood up over his head and pushed the door out to his freedom.

"Draco?"

"Pansy, I told you, he's not in here."

"I swear I heard him in here, mumbling to himself about his hair."

"God, Pansy, why don't you ever go for guys who don't care so much about their looks?"

"What are you, delusional? If I marry a guy who finds out that beauty is only skin deep, I'm doomed!"

"Oh, Pansy, I'm sure there's much more to you than just money and good looks."

"Really? You think so? Thanks, Ma—THAT BASTARD. HE USED MY BEST MOUSSE? That free-loading arsehole owes me twenty galleons!"

"Never mind, I take it back."

xXx

When he was sure that there was a safe distance between himself and the she-beast, he wandered through the empty halls in silence, wondering where else he could seek refuge. Most of the students were outside, because it was a magnificent day: a cloudless sky with a slightly cool, but nice breeze.

How sickening. He despised beautiful days. It was much harder to get people upset on those days.

"Oof! Oh, I'm terribly—Oh my God! Death Eater!"

In a confusing whir of three seconds, he found himself knocked to the ground, hands pinned above his head at a slightly painful angle, and an uncomfortable wooden stick prodding at the base of his throat. His attacker drew back the hood covering his face.

"What the hell? Malfoy?"

He tilted his head slightly to shake his fringe out of his eyes, as his idiot attacker had put his bangs into disarray when she had pulled back his hood.

"Granger, would you be kind enough to _get the fuck off me_?"

She scrambled off his torso, righting her clothes as she stood up. "Watch your language, Malfoy, because I won't hesitate to take off points from your house. In fact, it would just about make my day."

He stood up as well, brushing the dirt and imagined Mudblood germs off of his robes. Alarm passed his face as he remembered that his imperfect coif was exposed to the outside world, and one of his most undesirable enemies, who happened to be standing a mere three feet from him, could use his one-time defect against him for the rest of his life. Quickly, he drew his hood back over his head and sighed in relief.

She frowned. "Malfoy, don't do that. Someone could mistake you for a Death Eater."

He sniffed haughtily. "Granger, must I remind you, _once again_, that I take no part in Death Eater-like activities, nor am I branded as one?"

Her frown was further impressed upon her face. "I didn't say that. I merely pointed out that in that outfit and with your gait, one could mistake you for being a Death Eater, so I suggest that you remove your cloak, or at least your hood."

He wrinkled his nose in distaste and retorted superciliously, "Thank you dearly for you advice, Granger, but I prefer to keep my fashion tendencies to myself. After all, my sense of style is _clearly_ elevated above yours."

She stared at him, her lips quirked in an odd curve, as if debating whether to laugh or scowl at him. "Malfoy, we all wear the same uniform."

"Perhaps that is what your saddening, simple mind falsely believes."

She raised an eyebrow. "Am I wrong?"

He gave her a disdainful snort. "Granger, my clothes are not woven from the plain cotton that _your_ rags are composed of. No, _my_ robes are what they call, haute couture. I have the silk imported directly from China and silver molded into the threads used to finely craft my clothing. _That_ is why my clothes are superior to yours."

Her lips quirked definitively into a smile. "But they all still look the same."

"You are _clearly_ missing the point here, Granger."

"It seems I am." She looked pointedly at his hood. "Take it off."

"Vixen, aren't we?"

Her cheeks tinged a light red, and she folded her arms across her chest, the smile wiped off completely. The usual scowl was back on her face. "Just take off your hood, Malfoy, or I'll deduct house points for violating dress code."

His thoughts raced quickly. "I can't."

"And why not?"

"I—have an ailment."

"Don't lie, Malfoy. You look perfectly healthy to me."

He leaned in closer. "But that's the terrible thing about this illness: it only shows up in one place. I need to keep it covered until the infection goes away, else I risk the entire population of the school's health."

Doubt floated before her eyes, and she looked up at him warily. "Well, let me see it."

"You can't."

"And why the bloody hell not?"

"Because you could get infected as well!"

"Malfoy, I think I'm willing to sacrifice myself for the sake of this school. The worst that can happen is that I get sick too." With that, she reached up and pulled back away from his face.

Damn.

He winced, expecting her to recoil, at first in horror, and then, in shock. Shortly after that, she would start bursting into maniacal laughter at her newfound blackmail.

Surprisingly, there was silence.

"Where is it?"

He stared at her through narrowed eyes. Was she pretending she could not see his abomination? Was she mocking him already?

"Don't pretend like you don't see it."

She gave him a perplexed look that reminded him of Goyle in Transfiguration class when McGonagall would propose a question. "Excuse me? Malfoy, there's nothing there."

Oh, goddamn it, he couldn't take any more of this! He would not stand for this malicious ridicule any longer! Her cruel mocking of his flawed coiffure had to be put to an end!

"Oh, all right." His lower lip wavered in such a manner that almost made Hermione think he was about to burst into tears at any given moment. "There is no disease. The only ailment I have is this!"

With great resignation, he pointed to his downfall, while she stared at him incredulously.

"Malfoy, what the _hell_ are you talking about? I don't see anything on your head."

"My _cowlick_," he replied, his voice drawn out in a half-choked sob.

"Cowlick? Where?"

"I know you see it, Granger. You don't have to be so unkind about it."

"Me? Unkind? You should be one to talk." Suddenly, her bemused expression turned into one of amusement as she leaned in closer to inspect his so-called hair defection. "Malfoy, are you talking about this one tiny strand of hair that's sticking up?"

He drew back from her scrutinizing gaze and tentatively touched his hair. "It is not a tiny _strand_, Granger. It's a horror of epic proportions."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake." She brought her hand up to his head, nudged his hand aside, fingered the flyaway strand, and _yanked_.

He gaped at her, his mouth rapidly spewing forth half-coherent gibberish. He could barely think through the hazy cloud of pain surrounding his head.

"Oh, don't be a wuss, Malfoy." She took his hand and dropped a flaxen filament of his tresses onto his palm. "Souvenir."

"My—"

She patted his head. "Don't worry, Malfoy. I won't tell anyone about your little predicament. After all the torture you've been subjected to with that flyaway, I think you deserve some remuneration."

She was mocking him.

He narrowed his eyes. "Now look here—"

"I'll see you later, Malfoy. Don't forget about patrols tonight." With that, she continued down the hall as if nothing had happened, and he stared at her retreating backside.

He hoped that this would be the one and only time he would ever receive help from Granger. He couldn't believe that woman had the nerve to wrench a golden hair from his precious head. However, for now, he needed to find a nice, cold ice pack for his aching scalp.

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A/N: Gotta love vain, melodramatic Draco. Reviews keep my life running, please and thank youu.

_- lazer-angel_


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